I Created Donald Trump
I created Donald Trump. I really did. And maybe you did, too.
Consider this. Does anyone really believe Donald Trump can stand on his own intellect, leadership, or judgment? Okay. Maybe a few do. But even many of his own supporters know better. And they’ll tell you so. That they find certain aspects of his character to be repugnant, but they support him anyway.
And that’s the issue. He cannot do this alone. No. He needs strong people supporting him. He is nothing but a harmless toddler without those who have something important to say, but who feel like they have been silenced. Donald Trump does not exist without decent men and women who go to work every day, pay their taxes every year(!), and play by the rules — but feel marginalized for those very acts. Donald Trump does not exist without the support of patriots who believe in the principles of justice, decency and fairness, but have been labeled as racists, sexists, and radicals for daring to stand for these principles in ways that feel terribly outdated to me, and to others like me. Donald Trump simply does not exist without good people holding him up. Without them, Donald Trump collapses under his own hubris. His own comedic self-aggrandizement.
That is why Donald Trump is my fault. I silenced these people. I marginalized them. I labeled them. I rejected them. And in so doing, I drove them directly into his camp, and personally contributed to the rise of his excellency, Donald Trump.
If these people tried to describe what they saw as a “color-blind society,” one in which a person was judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character, I didn’t listen. Instead, I lectured them about white privilege and called them racists. If they brought up the sanctity of human life and mourned for the unborn dead, I didn’t listen. I called them hypocrites and racists for supporting capital punishment. If they spoke up for their constitutional right to worship according to their own convictions, I ridiculed them for failing to afford those same rights to those who did not agree with them. I called them “radical.”
I was really good at telling these people about their own hypocrisy, and somehow, they couldn’t hear it.
Imagine that.
And all the while, I was talking about strength through diversity. About how I cherished people whose views differ from my own. How I welcomed every color, creed, and religion into my little political tent.
Well, every color, creed, and religion. Except for theirs.
And when they pointed out my own hypocrisy, I couldn’t hear it.
Imagine that.
That is how I made Donald Trump. By telling those people — God-fearing, decent, justice-loving people — that I had no space for them. That I wasn’t willing to listen to what they had to say.
And by locking them out, I made Donald Trump. Handed him a powerful group of supporters, and Donald Trump welcomed them into his camp with open arms. Listened to them. Told them they mattered. Not only that, he amplified their voices. Said the things that they believed far more loudly than they could say them on their own. He may not believe these things, but it doesn’t matter so long as he says them. And in return, they agreed to hold their noses and tolerate his tantrums. They agreed to hold him up when he could not stand on his own two feet.
And I am responsible.
You would think I would learn from my mistake. But I have not. Even now, I find myself wondering aloud how anyone could possibly be crazy enough to support this clown. I put every single Trump supporter into the Q bucket. When they rightfully mourn the death of a police officer, I call them racists because they do not get angry enough at the injustice of the death a black person at the hands of a different police officer. When they talk about the actual violence occurring in the streets of America, I tell them the protests are mostly peaceful, as if that matters to the business owner seeing his or her lifetime of hard work go up in flames. When they refuse to wear a mask, I wring my hands at their inconsiderate disdain for the aged, the immunocompromised, and the weak. Do I need to go on?
And every time I do that, they hear exactly what I am saying. They hear me saying how indescribably ignorant I think they are. Yet again, they hear me calling them racists, sexists, and extremists. And somehow, that doesn’t convince them to walk away from Trump.
Imagine that.
Maybe it’s time for a different tack. Maybe it’s time to reconsider my knee-jerk dismissal of their views. Maybe it’s time to be quiet and hear what’s behind their words. To take the time to consider their values. To make space for them.
Maybe it’s time to listen.
Because I believe — I really believe — that Donald Trump is an existential threat to our democratic republic. That Donald Trump has demonstrated his disdain for our Constitution by firing non-lethal weapons on his own citizens so he could snap a selfie in front of a church (In a nation that guarantees its citizens the right to protest peacefully, and devoted to the separation of church and state. Stop. Think about that.). By repeatedly and intentionally undermining the legitimacy of the election. By refusing to commit to a peaceful transition of power. By proposing to dispatch soldiers, marines, sailors, and airmen to enforce our nation’s laws. By failing to unequivocally condemn the vigilantes who have violently taken the law into their own hands, and by telling these proud boys to “stand by.” By mocking those who have selflessly fought for our rights as citizens. By using the office of the president to evade justice. I could go on, but that’s enough for me to take his threat to our constitutional republic seriously. And I do.
And what if our very survival as a democratic republic depends on just a few of his supporters believing their voices might actually be heard in a Biden presidency? What if that is enough to turn the vote against Trump? Then, maybe it’s time for me to let go of my own hubris. To stop and listen. Or else maybe I am just as responsible as he is if our nation crumbles under his feckless leadership. Maybe I’m no better than Trump.
Maybe even worse.
